


Vampires, Vodka, and Double Reverse Alphabetical Order

by benevolentmonolithicc (orphan_account)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Drunk Confession, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff without Plot, M/M, POV Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), The rating is for language, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:47:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25739833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/benevolentmonolithicc
Summary: “What did Elias ever do to her?” Martin asked.“Well, he’s a vampire,” said Tim, as if it was the most normal thing to casually drop into a conversation in the world.Martin let out a laugh. “What?”“Yeah,” Tim nodded, completely stone-faced. “Can’t you see the signs?”“What signs are there towards Elias being a vampire?” Martin set down the papers he was holding on top of the box and leaned back. Tim tried to ignore the way his shirt moved around his arm as he did.“For one,” he started. “He never eats garlic.”“You can’t prove that,” laughed Martin. Tim loved the way Martin laughed. It was like...it was like that feeling you get when you make a baby laugh. Not to say that Martin was a baby, but it was that feeling of causing something pure and happy. Like a sound that kept playing in your head and that made you shake your head in disbelief that it was a sound you could ever help bring into this world.But that was a thought for another day. A day he wasn’t having an argument he was determined to win. “You can’t disprove that,” he pointed out.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Comments: 4
Kudos: 47





	Vampires, Vodka, and Double Reverse Alphabetical Order

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Apollo/Olive](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Apollo%2FOlive).



As the last box hit the floor of the assistant office, the sound it made was deafening. Tim and Martin surveyed their vast empire of work with a bored resolve. The dust the final box released had started to dissipate, and the echo of its slam had started to fade, leaving nothing but the two men and their day’s task. Tim looked over at Martin, hands on his hips. “So this is it then?”

“All the files in double reverse alphabetical order?” Martin asked. “Yes, this should be all of them.”

Tim nudged the closest box with his foot. “Seems less than normal.”

“What?”

“I just mean that usually when things are inconveniently filed,” he said. “There are more than just five boxes.” 

“You want more than this?” Martin looked at Tim, agast.

“Point taken.” The process of refiling old statements was a long yet familiar one. Martin and Tim sat on the dirty linoleum of the office like they had done a hundred times and began to sort through the boxes. Their movements were drilled ones, peeling off tabs and labels and putting on new ones, setting aside statements in rapidly growing piles. It was rotten work. The only consolation was the company.

“What even  _ is _ double reverse alphabetical order?” asked Martin after about an hour or so.

Tim shrugged. “Better than color coding.”

“I like color coding.” Martin pulled a file labeled with an H and a Z out of his box and started gently working off the aging sticky label. Tim spent a little too long looking at the way his fingers moved, and the little expressions he made as he met various amounts of resistance from the adhesive.

Tim paused to shake his head at Martin, a haunted look of too much knowledge in his eyes. Tim tended to see the best in people, but after spending one very memorable weekend sorting through three boxes of statements that ended up being a page by page reprint of Steven King’s  _ Pet Sematary _ , he was starting to lose that particular ability. “Not when it’s color-coded based on how whoever filed it was feeling that day.”

Martin gaped at him. “What?”

“Oh yes,” nodded Tim gravely. “Me and Sasha spent all of last week sorting through them. Eighteen boxes and I know for a fact there are still a few blues somewhere.”

“The blues are sadness then?”

Tim stapled a few loose documents together. “Lethargy.” 

“That’s...very specific,” noted Martin, pushing his glasses up his nose. 

Tim put the documents onto the pile closest to him and gave Martin a cocksure grin, that probably came out more like a grimace. “Not when half of them were blue.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.” The pair was quiet for a moment, save for the sounds of shuffling paper and the occasional click of a stapler.

“I wonder why Gertrude sorted them like this,” said Martin after a beat. “It can’t have been because she thought it would be useful.” 

“Personally, I think it’s because she wanted to piss off Elias.”

“What did Elias ever do to her?” Martin asked.

“Well, he’s a vampire,” said Tim, as if it was the most normal thing to casually drop into a conversation in the world. 

Martin let out a laugh. “What?”

“Yeah,” Tim nodded, completely stone-faced. “Can’t you see the signs?”

“What signs are there towards Elias being a vampire?” Martin set down the papers he was holding on top of the box and leaned back. Tim tried to ignore the way his shirt moved around his arm as he did.

“For one,” he started. “He never eats garlic.”

“You can’t prove that,” laughed Martin. Tim loved the way Martin laughed. It was like...it was like that feeling you get when you make a baby laugh. Not to say that Martin was a baby, but it was that feeling of causing something pure and happy. Like a sound that kept playing in your head and that made you shake your head in disbelief that it was a sound you could ever help bring into this world.

But that was a thought for another day. A day he wasn’t having an argument he was determined to win. “You can’t  _ dis _ prove that,” he pointed out.

Martin shook his head in disbelief. “Anything else? I’ve seen him in the daytime.”

“That doesn’t necessarily disprove my theory,” argued Tim, gesturing at Martin with the stapler he had forgotten was in his head for emphasis. “Loads of vampires can walk around in the daytime.”

Martin raised an eyebrow. “Like  _ Twilight?” _

“Like  _ Dracula _ .”

Martin tossed his hands up in surrender. “Alright, point made. Vampires can live in the sunlight. That still doesn't prove that Elias is a vampire.”

Tim looked down and started rifling through the box in front of him, very pointedly not looking at Martin. He sniffed. “My really big evidence is that he's immortal.” He kept his head down and Martin laughed.

“You know can’t just make a claim like that and not back it up.”

Tim lifted his head, eyes full of mischief. “With pleasure. So you know how he talks about the 1800s, right?”

Martin shrugged and made a face. “I guess?”

“It’s  _ really _ wistful,” Tim explained. “Like the way people get with the nineties?”

Martin nodded, but the look of confusion on his face didn’t move an inch. “I follow.”

“And he’s got some really specific grudges against historical figures.”

“What?”

“Oh yes,” nodded Tim, beaming. How long had it been since he’d gotten to tell this story? How long ago did Sasha get tired of hearing it? Too long ago. “I was looking up some information on Robert Smirke - shut up - and he was reading over my shoulder, and when I got to this part about, I dunno his taste in clothes or whatever, Elias just contemptuously said something about the color lilac and not being able to account for taste.”

“I think I know what you mean, actually. I misspelled something on a report I handed in to him, and he muttered ‘just like Edmund Haley.’”

“Like Haley’s comet Haley?” gawked Tim.

Martin grinned at him. “I think so.”

“I’ve got to add it to the corkboard.” Tim adjusted his seated position to pull on an index card from the drawer behind him, and a pen from the  _ Visit London _ mug above his head

“The  _ what _ ?”

Tim gave Martin a pained expression. “If I elaborate will you promise you won’t laugh?”

A flickering smile danced on the corners of Martin's lips. “I promise nothing.”

“Fine.” Tim reached under his desk and pulled. There was the sound of tearing velcro as Tim removed a large cork board covered with index cards and push pins and lots of fraying red string.

Martin let out another laugh, and Tim couldn’t even find it within himself to feel offended the way his heart was beating. “What is  _ that _ ?” gasped Martin.

Tim straightened his posture and tried to look serious and not like someone who was on the verge of blushing like a schoolboy. “A conspiracy board.”

Martin shook his head and grinned at him. “That’s a murder board, Tim!” 

“They’re not just used for murder!” said Tim, defensively.

“They’re used pretty exclusively for murder,” Martin countered. “Though it is very well made.”

“Thank you.” Tim nodded at him curtly. “Planning a murder is a very organized affair.”

Martin rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe you have a whole board just for Elias being a vampire.”

“Vampirism is very serious. And I had to do something with all this red string.” Tim flicked at one of the more sturdy looking strands for effect.

“Vampires aren’t even real,” snorted Martin.

“When I find a vampire statement, Martin Blackwood, then you’ll see.” Tim remembered making a declaration similar to Jon. They were unbelievers, the pair of them. Even Sasha sometimes seemed to doubt.

“Why?” Martin asked. He raised an eyebrow at Tim. “Do you want to be a vampire?”

“Of course!” exclaimed Tim, pushing his corkboard aside. “I’d be a very sexy vampire.”

“Vampire’s aren’t sexy.”

There are no words for the betrayal dripping from Tim’s face then. He stared at Martin, slack-jawed and affronted, in near comical horror. “ _ What? _ ”

“Sorry, it's just that Nosferatu doesn't do it for me.”

“Nosferatu?” Tim looked at Martin, horrified. “Martin, we’re talking Tom Cruise in hot billowy shirts! We’re talking Brad Pitt with long, flowing hair!”

Martin looked as confused as he had been when Tim had first said that Elias was a vampire. “What are you talking about?”

_ “Interview with a Vampire _ ,” said Tim. “How have you not seen it?”

Martin grinned at him. “I’ve been too busy watching  _ Nosferatu _ .”

Tim stood and pushed away the half-filled box sitting by him. “Well, that’s it.”

“That’s...what?”

“This,” declared Tim. “Is an intervention.”

“An intervention.”

“Yes, Martin, an intervention. You are far too old to not have seen this seminal work.”

“We’ve got more boxes,” said Martin, half-heartedly.

Tim waved him off. “They can wait.”

“And the movie can’t?”

“No.”

“Fine.”

“Just sit there,” Tim told him. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Tim!” called Martin, but Tim had already sprinted off. Martin rubbed his eyes. “Christ, Tim. Just leave this pile of boxes in the middle of the room for me to clean up I guess.”

Martin barely finished grumbling when Tim returned, smile wide, eyes bright, and arms filled with bottles and blankets. “Alright, I’m back!”

“Are you alright?” Martin asked. Tim was red in the face, and he sounded like he’d run the entire length of the Archives and back. “You’re breathing really hard and-”

Tim held up a hand. “I’m fine. Are you ready to have your life changed on this fine Tuesday?”

Martin gave him a worried look. “No?”

“Wrong answer! Hold this!” Tim shoved a bottle into his hands, and Martin gave it a once over.

“Is this...vodka?” he asked. Tim beamed at him and he gingerly laid out the blanket. He and Sasha had a blanket cache in a long-forgotten section of the Archives. Usually, it didn’t serve much of a purpose, but did one really want to suddenly find themselves in desperate need of a blanket and not have one?

“A full bottle!” Tim agreed. “We’re making an evening of this.”

“Tim, it’s like six in the afternoon,” Martin reminded him, lowering the bottle.

“Exactly. It’s not like we can make a day of this unless you want to watch the other movies on a later date…” Tim raised an eyebrow at him.

“Are you sure we should be doing this now?” Martin glanced nervously at the adjacent office.

“It’s not like Sims is going to emerge from his cave for another four hours at least, and he certainly won’t come in here.

“Alright.” Martin put the bottle of vodka down on the desk and smiled at Tim. “How are we doing this?”

“Well,” Tim rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Sasha and I may have taken the liberty of pirating it onto my work computer.”

“That’s how you get viruses,” Martin said.

It was Tim’s turn to laugh. “Not the way Sasha does it.”

“Are we going to huddle up by your computer then?” 

“Just give me a moment, Mr. Impatient, I’m setting everything up. Don’t touch the vodka until I’m done.” Tim started wrestling with his monitor. The cords connected to it were short and strong, and no matter how much he kayaked they always seemed stronger than him.

“I won’t,” Martin assured him. “Why do we need vodka anyway?”

“It’s the best way to experience the movie,” Tim said, pulling at a red cord that he was sure didn’t connect to anything.

“Is it not good?”

“No it’s good, it’s just better drunk. Alright, I think that’s it.” Tim put his hands on his hips triumphantly and examined the breadth of his domain. There was a suitably large space already cleared out so that he and Martin could sort through the assorted boxes of files, and Tim had had his way with it. On a still-closed box sat his monitor, which Tim had finally wrangled and pulled down from his desk to sit on top of it. The four remaining boxes had been used to frame the comforter he’d gotten from the back of the Archives like the arms of a couch, and resting on top was the crown jewel of the blanket hoard: a brown and white sherpa blanket that felt like what you dreamed clouds were like as a kid. “Are you ready?”

Martin seemed as proud of Tim’s work as Tim was. “Yes.” The pair curled up in the little den Tim had built and started the movie. Tim had forgotten how cheesy the beginning was and loved the movie even more for it. He reached for the bottle of vodka and popped off the lid. Tim took a swig and Martin followed suit.

Martin gagged. “Oh, that’s awful!”

“It’s vodka, Martin,” Tim explained. “You don't drink it for the taste. But I’ll take it if you don’t-”

“I didn’t say that.” Martin swatted away the hand Tim was trying to stealthily creep towards the bottle and took another sip. They just sat there watching the movie for a while, Martin indulging Tim’s cheer when Tom Cruise first appeared, and Tim remaining very calm when Martin lay his head on his shoulder. He didn’t even mind how hard that made it focus on the movie. How could he when Martin’s hair was so soft, and he smelled like tea leaves and soup cans and old wool.

Martin set the bottle down between them. “Tim?”

“Hm?”

“I have a confession to make.”

Tim shifted his head to face Martin, and their eyes met. Martin’s eyes shone in the flickering light of the monitor. “Oh?”

He gave Tim an apologetic look. “I’m a lightweight.”

Tim laughed. “Are you already tipsy?”

“Maybe?”

“Martin, I’m going to have to catch up with you now.”

“We’ve had the same number of sips?” Martin looked away and made a face. “Drinks?”

“Drinks,” confirmed Tim. “And it’s not fair if you’re tipsy and I’m still sober.”

“‘S not my fault.” Martin nestled deeper into Tim’s shoulder.

“Yes, it is. Now give me a minute.” Tim scooped up the considerably less full bottle of vodka and took a long drink.

“Hey! Share.”

Tim held up a finger and finished his sip. He smacked his lips. “There.”

“There what?”

“I should be tipsy now,” Tim said.

“You can’t just know that though.”

“Watch me.”

“I can’t,” said Martin. “I’m watching the movie.”

“You are not,” Tim argued, pulling the blanket up a little higher.

“I am!”

Tim looked at him skeptically. “What’s Brad Pitt’s vampire power?”

“Being emo,” said Martin, matter-of-factly. 

Tim laughed, he couldn’t help it. “So you have been watching!”

“It’s a really lame vampire power.”

“I know right?” It felt so good to talk about. Sasha hated the movie. “Like, Tom Cruise gets telepathy and our hero just to feel sad all the time.”

“What would you vampire power be?” asked Martin, cocking his head. It was a cute gesture (everything Martin did was cute), but it moved Martin’s head off Tim’s shoulder.

“The power to look really hot in flowy pirate shirts.”

“That’s just a normal vampire thing,” said Martin dismissively.

Tim leaned his head against Martin’s. “Even Nosferatu?”

“Everyone looks good in flowy pirate shirts,” pointed Martin. “Even  _ I’d _ look good in a big flowy pirate shirt.”

“You’d look good in anything,” sighed Tim.

“I can tell you from personal experience that I most certainly do not,” said Martin, picking at the sleeve of his sweater.

Tim frowned. “Bullshit.”

“What?”

“Kindly, Martin,” Tim repeated. “That’s bullshit.”

Martin sat up, pushing Tim’s head off of his own and giving Tim an annoyed look. “Look, Tim, just because you’re hot doesn’t mean the rest of us can be all body positivity all the time.”

“It’s not that,” said Tim, quietly. 

“Then it’s not…” Martin ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. “Look, I get it you’re a friend and you have to say that sort of thing but-”

Tim almost laughed. “It’s not that either, Martin.”

“What then?”

Tim just stared at Martin, the mole on his neck, the way his hair fell by his ears, the slight wrinkle in his brow, and the slight uncertainty in his expression. He just shook his head and grabbed the vodka. “Give me a minute, I’m not drunk enough for this.”

Martin pulled the bottle from him and put it aside. He stared right at Tim, their eyes locking and there was something in Martin’s eyes that Tim couldn’t place. “Drunk enough for what, Tim?”

“You’re…” Tim rubbed his chin and bit his lip. “You’re really pretty, Martin. Like, distractingly so? Like I can’t focus on my work so, like I think about you all the time so, and so yes, you’d look good in anything. Fuck it, you’d look good in nothing-”

Martin blinked. “What?”

Tim looked worriedly at the discarded bottle. “Maybe I’m too  _ drunk _ for this.”

“Tim…”

“Look,” Tim said, his courage waning, and everything in him screaming for him to stop talking more than it usually did. “I know that’s not how you think of me-”

“Tim…”

“-and I know that you’re just doing this as like a friend favor, but I don’t care. I like you, Martin, the way you make me feel and the way I am around you, and the way I make you laugh and then you make me laugh and-” And Tim probably would have gone on, but he didn't have the chance, because Martin had pulled him in and was kissing him, and was doing this thing with his chin than make Tim’s brain short circuit. 

Martin pulled away but kept his hand on Tim’s neck. He fixed Tim with a wry smile. “Tim.”

“Martin.” Tim returned it for as long as he could before he couldn’t fight the urge to kiss him anymore. And so they left the world behind. The boxes and pillows and vodka between them, the Archives, the movie, the world. It was like floating, like flying, like dancing in the empty infinitude of the cosmos. For a moment, for one sweet and perfect moment, they were alone, and all that mattered was the other’s lips on their's and Tim’s hand on Martin’s cheek, brushing the hair behind his ears, and Martin’s hand in Tim’s hair, mussing it like there was no tomorrow. Because there might as well not have been one. Tim pulled away for a moment and stared at the screen. “Wait, this is a really good part.”

“Are you serious?” But Martin said it as a laugh.

“Yes I’m serious, do you see what Tom Cruise is wearing?” Tim gasped, gesturing at the screen. He fought the urge to dramatically swoon, though that might have been more because of how much he liked dramatically swooning than anything else. "That’s like, my dream outfit.”

Martin shook his head. “If only you were a vampire.”

“Well, there are some downsides to vampirism,” Tim admitted.

“What, like the whole sun thing, and the garlic?” said Martin, sarcastically. 

Tim poked Martin’s chest. “No, that your go-to vampire is Nosferatu, and that’s a mood killer right there.”

“No, it isn’t.”

Tim grinned at him. “Prove it.” 

Tim had never been happier to be proven wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> This is for @olive_gardn on twitter, sorry I don't know your name on Ao3! I had a feeling you liked vampires (I haven't seen the WWDINTS show as many times as I've seen the movie, I didn't feel like I could do nandermo justice) I hope you like it, and happy belated birthday. I hope your day is looking up


End file.
